


tell him careful walking up the stairs

by lookingoodsugar



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: College AU, Depression, F/F, Insomnia, Laundry AU, M/M, Mention of Hate Crime, hamlet has none, hamlet is disaster bi, horatio has 1 braincell, horatio is a foreign student, horatio is functionning gay, mention of king hamlet's death, ophelia is distinguished lesbian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingoodsugar/pseuds/lookingoodsugar
Summary: "tried to do the laundry, had a breakdown, bon appétit"title from rotten by missouri surf club





	tell him careful walking up the stairs

Nights were not made for sleeping. They had not been in a very long time. Nights were made for tossing and turning around, clenching sheets and crying into your pillow. Hamlet couldn’t even recall the last time he slept from sunset to sunrise. Too many times, he had witnessed the sun dimly light his room not having slept yet. Ever since his father’s death, Hamlet feared going to sleep. The nights in Wittenberg were cold and hollow, filled only by half-insane dreams in which his father’s ghosts wailed for revenge. 

One sorrowful night, sleep had once again failed Hamlet. The young man got up from the bed he had been laying on for the past few hours, listening to music, to look out the window. The night stretched over the Wittenberg campus like a heavy black veil. At this hour, there was no one outside. The shadows of trees cast by the streetlights spread over the yard like tortuous claws. 

Uneasy, Hamlet averted his gaze, scrutinizing his room instead. His textbooks laid here and there in a sea of clothes on the floor. One of his shoes was on his desk, the other nowhere to be seen. His laptop laid open on the kitchen floor on a paused video of a Bob Ross tutorial. Hamlet did not paint. Well, he did, but not well and certainly nothing comparable to Bob Ross. A white canvas was sitting on an easel in a corner of the messy dorm waiting to be painted on but Hamlet was too afraid to mess it up. His alarm clock read 6AM.

He slowly made his way to his desk to retrieve his shoe and probed a t-shirt with a pen. The t-shirt was black, like all of his t-shirts were, and judging by the smell, it had been here a long time. Hamlet sighed. He really needed to do the laundry. 

First, he undid the bed covers that had definitely seen more sweat than sleep. And a coffee stain apparently. He then stuffed all of his clothes in the sheets as he didn't have a bag to transport his clothes in. The laundry room was just downstairs and at this hour, no one would be there to witness his makeshift bag. He spared nonetheless a glance at his mirror. He looked terrible. The bags under his eyes made him look like an emo singer that had fallen asleep with makeup on. His bleached blonde hair was messily tied on the top of his head in a horrible top knot and he undid it. He tried to smooth his hair but failed. It didn’t really matter since he wasn’t likely to run into anyone. 

The laundromat was lit when Hamlet arrived, his makeshift bag thrown over his shoulder. A dark skinned boy was putting clothes inside one of the washing machine. Hamlet thought about turning around but too late, the boy had seen him. He nodded Hamlet’s way before going back to his business. Hamlet sighed and pushed the glass door. He chose the farthest washing machine from the boy and unpacked his clothes. Well, he turned the sheets upside down and let the clothes drop on the floor. 

Staring at the pile of dirty clothes at his feet, Hamlet was forced to realize. They were never going to all fit in the machine. He picked up a piece of fabric, burying his head in it. He allowed himself a moment to acknowledge his failure as a human being. He couldn’t even do the laundry. He repressed a sob before taking a deep breath and opening the washing machine. His face made a distressed grimace. There were so many different buttons.

“Do you need help?” asked the other boy with a raised brow. He had black wired frame glasses and starry pajamas. 

Hamlet smiled awkwardly. “Why would I need help?”

“Well, you just started to cry in a dirty pair of underwear. You look like shit and I’m kinda worried you’re gonna flood the place. You don’t look like you know how to do this, am I wrong?”

The boy had a slight accent but his tone was warm. Hamlet looked once more at his clothes before admitting defeat.

"No, not really."

"There," the boy said, "I'll help. See, you have to divide your clothes in two piles, fair and dark."

He opened a second laundromat. He and Hamlet sorted through the clothes and filled the two machines.

"The token goes here, then you pick the program.."

Hamlet's attention was focused on the buttons, then on the boy's hands. He had long fingers and the skin was a little chapped around his thumb. A delicate complicated ring blossomed around his index finger. Hamlet glanced at his face, now very close to his own. His eyes were a light brown with green around the irises. His skin looked extremely soft and it made him want to cry.

"Now you just wait," said the boy, his eyes flickering back to Hamlet who immediately looked away. "When's your first class?" 

"Ten, why?"

"That means you have three to four hours to sleep. You look like you could really use them."

Hamlet scoffed. "So could you."

"I just did, I woke up early to do the laundry. You, on the other hand, look like you haven't slept in years."

"Just in days. Months. It doesn't matter. Thank you for the laundry, you're a lifesaver."

The boy smiled. "I mean it. Go to sleep."

And Hamlet did.

He woke up in a sun-lit room, his bare mattress itchy and definitely coffee stained. His alarm clock read 11AM. He almost fell out the bed trying to rush to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and his hair at the same time and realized all of his clothes were in the washing machine. 

Fuck it, he'd go to class in his pajamas.

He slipped into his second class, still wearing one of his dad's oversized shirt, and Ophelia looked him down from behind her glasses before turning back to her laptop.

"'Sup, you missed the lecture."

"I overslept."

Ophelia snorted. 

"You overslept? That's new." She eyed him once more to see if she wasn't overstepping boundaries. "It's good that you slept."

Ophelia and Hamlet had been friends for such a long time most times they didn't even need to talk to each other to know something had happened. 

Today, she seemed extremely happy, more than necessary for a two hours seminar on _ Great Expectations_. Her long red hair swished around her shoulder as she turned to beam at Hamlet.

"What?" he grunted. A good night of sleep was not going to fix his bad character. Ophelia ignored it.

"You know how I went to this party last night? Well, I got lucky. I kissed a girl!" Ophelia gushed before slapping Hamlet's thigh. "Victory for the gays!"

Hamlet raised a brow and smirked. She started humming the song and he looked at the window, noticing the boy from the laundry room walking across campus, a pile of books under his arm. The corner of his mouth twitched. Pretty boy had told him to sleep and it had worked like a spell. He should thank him. Maybe buy him lunch, profit from the perks of being related to the dean.

Yes, he'd invite the boy for lunch.


End file.
